


Scars and All

by mr-finch (soubriquet)



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Joker (2019)
Genre: Is it a hallucination or isn't it? a fun game, Kissing, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sexual Inexperience, blowjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:00:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22748959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soubriquet/pseuds/mr-finch
Summary: TDK's Joker meets Arthur Fleck and finds their differences extremely interesting.
Relationships: Arthur Fleck/Joker (DCU), Joker (DCU)/Joker (DCU)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 99





	Scars and All

**Author's Note:**

> I needed more porn of The Dark Knight's Joker with Arthur and/or his Joker, so I wrote it.
> 
> Don't ask me how this encounter was possible, it's porn.

Arthur Fleck is almost too much to bear. This is the first thing the Joker learns about Arthur.

The stammering, the hesitance before hopeful acquiescence - that is almost expected, from what he’s seen of him already. The tickle in his throat that shuts off suddenly into racks of laughter: he knows that’s coming. This Joker turns Arthur in place and presses one gloved hand to Arthur’s bare midriff. He tucks his painted chin against Arthur’s shoulder and pulls him closer, feeling, even through leather, the way each laugh is almost as violent as a sob.

The Joker has already seen all this - has been told about all of this - and everyone who knows Arthur knows about these interesting little details.

What the Joker isn’t expecting, after the blasts of laughter began to subside, is the way Arthur leans back into him. The grateful tilt of his head as it falls back onto the Joker’s shoulder, baring his throat to the ceiling. The way his body slumps, exhausted, so that the Joker has to hold almost all of his weight in the grip he has on his waist and hips.

“Arthur,” he purrs, into the man’s ear.

The soft _uh-huh_ is a vibration in Arthur’s neck.

The Joker trails his head upwards, his nose pressing past curls into the gap just behind Arthur Fleck’s right ear. “Tell me what you want.”

Arthur’s sigh is miserable, exhausted, and he leans into the touch, his head tilting to the right. His hands come up to rest on the Joker’s gloves, still a biting grip in his waist. “I just want to be happy.”

The Joker makes a low, considering noise in his throat. It may even be a little sympathetic. He relaxes his grip just a little, and Arthur sways to the left. “Where’s your bed?”

Arthur shakes his head, curls brushing against the Joker’s cheek. “I don’t- My mother’s ill, she has the bed, when she’s-“ His voice sticks for a moment. “When she’s here.”

The Joker nods. This also makes sense. He noticed the unmistakeable signs of sleeping on the couch as he came in. Just as he found Arthur curled up in the corner of the kitchen.

“She isn’t using it,” he tells him, “not tonight.”

Arthur nods at this and sways back to the right, taking the Joker with him. He’s either tired, or tipsy, or-

“I wondered when you’d come.”

“Really?” The Joker rests his hands a little lighter, taking Arthur’s weight with his body. It’s not much; Arthur is close to skeletal.

Arthur turns his head, although they’re too close to really meet each other’s eyes. “Yeah,” he says. _Silly_. “I’ve been dreaming about you.” He pulls away a little so he can get a proper look at the Joker’s face and the corners of his mouth quirk up. “Scars and all.”

The Joker catches the hand that rises to touch his cheek and slides his fingers into Arthur’s grip, nudging him back towards the kitchen counter. Arthur’s eyes are so bright, even with just the lights from the street and the open fridge. It’s something about the way they lighten up the dark shadows below them. The Joker knows those shadows, though they’ve never been above such a sweet smile before.

“Then you know why I’m here,” he drawls, closing their palms together and letting Arthur pull them to rest against his chest.

Dawn rises somewhere deep inside Arthur, although it’s still tempered by a touch of hesitance - of uncertainty. “You’re here to make me happy,” he says, and his mouth flipflops between a soft curve and shaky concern. His fingers twitch in the Joker’s grip, reluctant to finish the _aren’t you?_

The Joker squeezes his hand, once, then steps back. “C'mere.”

He leads Arthur to his mother’s bedroom, where there is laundry on the floor and the cracks in the walls remind him of a distant memory. He guides the man onto the end of the bed and lowers himself to his knees, reaching to untie Arthur’s shoes.

When the Joker pulls off one of his socks, Arthur takes a breath, and when he takes off the other, Arthur pulls away. The words that come to the Joker are _internally cringing:_ Arthur is all legs and elbows even just sitting down and his knees are squished tight together. “Please,” Arthur says, quiet as anything. “Promise.”

This is where they differ. The Joker has no memories of asking anyone this. When he knows he’s understanding right, he places his hands either side of Arthur and leans up, into his space. “I promise,” he says, never in the habit of promising.

Arthur’s eyes slip shut in relief and his brow clears. His toes curl and uncurl against the carpeted floor and he laughs a little nervous laugh. “Your voice is so deep.”

The Joker smiles, amused, and tilts his head to study the man before him. “Yours is so light. Aren't you ever sure?”

Arthur’s eyes focus on him then, piercingly green. “Sometimes.”

He leans forward, ever so telling in his intentions, and touches their lips together, nose brushing against the Joker’s. His lips are gentle, but firm, clumsily bumping against scars as the Joker holds back and lets him lead. After a few moments of light, closed-mouth kisses, Arthur pulls away and smiles wide.

The Joker came here for a reason and he’s more controlled than he usually is, but the complete inexperience still manages to take him utterly by surprise. Another vast difference between them.

“Lie back,” he tells him, to cover his reaction. Arthur scoots back on his ass, until he’s sitting unashamedly open-legged on the sheets. Still with that blissful smile on his face.

There’s not much to take off - there’s not much to Arthur at all, under the baggy pyjama pants - and he wriggles out of his Y-fronts in a very endearing way when the Joker pulls them down his legs and chucks them onto the floor.

The Joker is still fully clothed, minus his coat and his gloves, but it doesn’t matter - he’s not exactly here for his own pleasure. “We’ll start here,” he says, and climbs onto the bed, kneeling astride Arthur. For a moment, Arthur looks vulnerable, a little wary, but his face softens when the Joker cups it in his hands and leans in. “Here,” he specifies, and captures his lips in another kiss.

For Arthur, this is so clearly new territory that the Joker spends time showing him, by clear example, how to kiss softly. How to open your mouth just enough that you can feel the other’s breath. How a kiss feels when it trails down your cheek and when it returns. He shows him how to taste someone without hurting them. How to deepen a kiss and why, and how to lighten it. How to use your teeth.

He can feel him growing hard against his stomach, in a hot, shuddery sort of way.

When they part, Arthur has a red flush rising over his cheekbones. His mouth is open and he looks at the Joker with something other than just sexless trust. Almost shock, or outrage, at what he’s learned. And then the deepening gaze of someone who wants to do it again.

The Joker obliges, tilting his head to one side and showing Arthur the flicker of a tongue against his warm lips. When their tongues touch, Arthur’s breath hitches in a faint but pleased giggle and his fingers bury themselves in the Joker’s shirt. With his eyes shut, his eyelashes brush against the Joker’s skin, and something in the clown coils up.

They kiss each other, controlled experiment meeting curious exploring and both of them starting to sweat. The Joker unbuttons his vest while they’re still dipping into each other’s mouths, worming out of it and tossing it somewhere on the ground. His shoes follow, and he is two buttons into his shirt before he finds Arthur’s eyes on him, watching, and he stills.

Arthur’s pupils are dark and his mouth is wet with their saliva. “I liked that,” he says, unclenching his fingers from the Joker’s shirt and hesitantly raising one hand up to brush the Joker’s neck. The dimple from an old bullet wound draws his attention, the tip of his fingers circling the scar. A bullet wound Arthur doesn’t have.

His cock is hard and hot against the Joker’s abdomen. It would be a crime to ignore attention that obvious. Still working on stifling his own attraction, the Joker takes the wandering hand in his own and places it back on his shirt, where Arthur helps him undo the rest of the buttons.

Arthur’s eyes go pleasingly wide as he takes in skin. It’s the eighties, and he’s never even been kissed before, but the Joker still finds the roaming gaze both acutely arousing and sweet. Strange, strange combination.

He lowers his own hand, pressing it flat against Arthur’s ribs and drawing it down his stomach. At that, he watches Arthur go still and breathe harder, his eyes going right back to Joker’s. “And next,” the Joker murmurs, watching Arthur until it’s clear he’s anticipating. Then he gropes lower, reaching for the piece of him that’ll make Arthur gasp.

He doesn’t disappoint. Smirking now, the Joker rests himself up on one elbow so he can watch Arthur respond. He keeps his hand still on him for a beat, then gives him one long stroke, then another. His reaction is almost fun. Arthur has surely beaten off in the past, and most people find it hard to get much out of one touch, but most people aren’t Arthur.

It must be the touch of someone else that’s getting him this way: his half-open mouth, his head tilted back against the pillows. The kick of his hips into the Joker’s hand. “Hm,” the Joker says. “S’almost like you’re enjoying it.”

Arthur’s face flutters with laughter again, light and easy. His eyes open and he brings the Joker’s mouth to his with nothing but a look. There’s something stirring in him, something a little wild and authoritative, and when he claims the Joker’s mouth he places one hand on the clown’s arm, encouraging him. “Why wouldn’t I?” he says, between their lips. “You’re good at this.”

That clenches the Joker’s stomach again and shoots a line of heat down to his own arousal. He grits his teeth and hisses a breath through them, earning himself a curious look that makes _him_ almost flush beneath the greasepaint.

That’s it. Enough play.

He breaks the kiss and makes up for Arthur’s noise of protest by pressing his lips along the man’s jaw, down the curve of his neck and into the smattering of hair on his chest. The Joker’s fingers brush against Arthur’s armpits, making him giggle, then push up, encouraging Arthur to raise his arms above his head.

It’s easier access. Arthur looks so very naked like this, without a scrap of clothing or even his hands left to protect himself. The Joker kisses the ridge of his collarbone, then bites it, feeling Arthur’s cock jump and trying not to hear the man’s soft noise. He leaves little splotches of paint - white and red - down Arthur’s torso, and on one nipple.

When he reaches Arthur’s dick, he pauses above it, tongue swiping over his lower lip. Arthur’s hips rise ever so slightly at that and the Joker glances up, noticing that the flush on his face has deepened and that Arthur has his arms interlocked above his head.

He’s done this many times. The evidence strongly suggests Arthur never has. The Joker drops one more kiss on a pale thigh and then hooks his fingers around the base of Arthur’s dick, running his tongue up the side and flattening it against the head.

Again, the response surprises him. Arthur’s fingers touch the Joker’s hair and a shiver goes through both of them. Unwilling to even begin to address that, the Joker closes his eyes and takes Arthur into his mouth.

It should be just like any other dick, except it isn’t. Arthur tastes sweet and at the third long suck from base to tip his thighs begin to shake. When the Joker looks up he sees Arthur’s eyes closed and his throat working, his fingers twitching in the sheets. It’s too much. Nobody reacts like this. No one lets out such a peal of sounds, such little semi-controlled thrusts, such tentative touches. The hand in his hair clenches and uncurls.

He knows Arthur won’t last long. He also knows that he already wants to do this again, will do this again, will get lost in it if he doesn’t slow down. The Joker presses Arthur’s thighs into the mattress and increases his speed, sucking hard on him, wanting to provoke more of those unbearable noises.

Arthur doesn’t disappoint. It’s only seconds until he’s close, and then he bucks up into the Joker’s mouth without warning, shooting sharp streaks of cum down his throat, cock jerking. The Joker stays with it, swallowing around the pulses until Arthur cries out and pulls him off by the hair, half-guiding, half-dragging him up the bed to kiss him.

When he tastes himself in the Joker’s mouth, his tongue swills in the foreign flavour and the Joker almost loses it there. His own cock is leaking in his pants, harder than he can remember being in a long while. Arthur makes a satisfied noise into their mouths and the Joker’s hips jut against the man’s leg.

He can feel Arthur’s eyes on him before he opens his own. The two of them are breathless, but only one of them is in control of themselves. Arthur’s happy, sex-sated look turns interested and intent, and he reaches down between their bodies. The Joker moves to stop him, but Arthur takes that hand and guides both of them to the Joker’s waistband.

The moment Arthur touches him, the Joker buries his face in the sheets. It’s too much to look at him, too much even to press his mouth to that sweet, sweaty skin. The clumsiness of the hand stroking him makes him gasp, and when he joins Arthur’s hand with his own to show him exactly what speed he likes - no, _needs_ \- the man kisses the curve of his ear.

It’s too much and all at once it’s not enough. Riding the crest of the wave, the Joker turns his head and meets that soft, sweet mouth. He’s so lost in the heat that he barely knows what he’s doing when he comes, his world zeroing into nothing but Arthur’s rough fingers and Arthur’s lips.

When he’s done, he lies drained, half-off Arthur, his face pressed against the pillow beside him. Their legs are still entwined and several hot wet patches join them together. The Joker’s dick gives a helpless twitch at that realisation and he pulls his and Arthur’s hand out of his pants, entangling their fingers and resting them on Arthur’s chest.

“Hey, Joker.”

He can feel the way Arthur’s heart stammers under his palm. The Joker opens his eyes and finds Arthur’s green eyes gazing back at him, with two long dark curls thrown across his cheeks.

“Nobody’s ever done that for me before,” Arthur says. He breathes in, and the Joker tries to match his ragged breathing to that rising chest. “Nobody.”

The Joker nestles closer, resting his forehead against Arthur’s. “I know,” he says. “That’s why I’m here.”


End file.
